While the Septumvirate would very much love to direct its attentions to these ridiculous, overly-zealous fish, it cannot do so and still keep its focus on the bridge underfoot. Focusing its prodigious energies upon the bridge, it does its best to reverse the loss of cohesion; and if nothing else, perhaps it can use the bridge itself to give those predators a reason to keep a wide distance from the soon-to-be worldship passengers.

Trying to reinforce the bridge, taking a multi-round action and falling behind for one round to spend two rounds buffing it up if that would reasonably mechanically help matters. And though maybe I'm overreaching myself here, is there any chance he could interweave a very weak fractal ray into it to provide a very minor version of whatever effect would result onto the sharks?

The Pontifex had little patience for the dumb fish. They were creatures of the depths, as below them as ants would be to those who walk the earth, and thus they merely swept their hands in a casual spell, forcing the water out of their gills, for the moment suffocating them as they hurried in a rather undignified matter across the bridge. Dignity was certainly a thing to value, but so was life, and they preferred not to become the food of such base beings as the sharks.

This was one of the rare occasions where his arms were something of a hindrance than an advantage. It was a poor piece of business to receive a gift like this and respond by damaging it immediately. On the other proverbial hand, being dead would most definitely suck. His reached out and latched onto the beast with t he wolf head, and half leapt half pulled himself towards it, hoping to mount it's back rather than be dragged into the Worldship.

Making a hasty retreat was not something The Bargainer was accustomed to, and the burst of energy brought on by urgent need was beginning to peter out. He urged his legs to press on, to do their work in good faith, knowing that only a little bit farther lie a form of rest not synonymous with death.

The Exemplar found themself converting all of their potential energy into kinetic, trying to make the gap. A quick glance around had shown that he was neck and neck with the Ribcleaner and its riders, one of which was struggling to cling to the back of the beast. Touching off from the rune pillar with just enough power to get a definite lead, the armor clad warrior found their course intersecting with the lightbridge. A quick half turn allowed the jets of their footgear to course-correct and align them with the straight and narrow, and within fragments of a moment they were coming up on the rest of those hurrying to the worldship.

The Septumvirate zapped a shark, sending it spiralling deep into the lake in an erratic path, while The Pontifex ripped water from the gills of a number of the beasts mid-lunge, robbing them of their watery breathe, and perhaps more importantly, the momentum it held- they flopped back into the water. Others made it past the defensive attacks, smashing away even as Septumvirate multitasked on projecting more fields of lightforce to patch the bridge, it was clearly a losing battle. The shark's frenzy was reaching its peak.

The Bargainer's retreat was going well enough, avoiding the slick spots in the rapidly eroding bridge. The bridge's dilapidation was being hastened by the frenzying sharks headbutting it from below, fully visible through the shifting colors he tread upon- when something twinkled in the fore of his mind. The shark's minders were certainly struck out of the picture by whatever the Lawgiver was enacting. They knew their task, he was sure, and their fate. The beasts themselves, he knew, were fully capable of rational thought in their own way; and of course, with that came more savory abstract notions, what ifs, could bes. Silver, and with a ring of sharp 'crown' ridges, right below was a prime candidate even now circling at a shallow depth, preparing to strike again- almost certainly out of jealousy and desire, rather than duty.

At the head of the pack of assorted beings skittering across the lightbridge was The Attendant, still cradling the black artifact. He wove in and out of thin patches and cracks in the surface with unexpected agility for someone with such a non-imposing presence. He had just about made it to the Worldship. A few more steps and he would be making contact with a reinforced sandstone block that made up a crude 'docking bay'. He glanced back, and his view was not a pleasant one. The horizon lacked the white light of day or the dancing colors of night. The scene was wholly enveloped by the black disc- the absolute nothing- which meant the end of the world. The city below, just minutes ago alive with festivities, was now ashy and grey, its avenues clotted with petrified things. The fire still burned, and the smoke clung in the air without any motion. Somewhere at the center of it all was the Lawgiver, still motionless, though his work was being done. The Attendant's eyes snapped to more pressing matters. From his perspective, the light bridge extended as a line beneath his feet towards the horizon. On that line were a few dozen people of various sorts, mysteriously robed, clad in leathers and furs, naked, or near to it. They were the followers of the handful of movers and shakers also trying to escape this dying world. They dotted the path, hurrying along, as even now beasts from the water were thrashing away at their conveyance. Further down the line was the armor clad warrior who had refused to pay any respect to the world's end, which was a reasonable decision, and somewhat expected. The warrior was just now landing on the bridge and even catching up to some of the stragglers. And then, in mid air, above the line, was an enormous black and white beast with two ruffians holding on for life itself as it hurtled through the air and crashed down onto the bridge without a sound. The ribcleaner threw back its birdlike face and hissed steam triumphantly, and when it lowered its head, there was a third fellow atop it, though ruffian may not be the precise word. Surtr had used the beast's descent to leap up and secure his position on top of it.

Surtr's view of the lightbridge, from atop this magnificent creature, was much the same as the Attendant's, though in reverse. His galloping monster was quickly gaining on those hurrying across the bridge, exhaling steam. The Attendant was looking back, one foot on the Worldship's sandstone shore. And though the pure black sky was behind him, he knew it was there. The Lawgiver had shown him that firsthand.

The Septumvirate presses on forward, ushering them on towards the pier as quickly as is feasible. So close now, a question of mere feet to traverse. All its focus set on reaching the Worldship, and ensuring the others do the same.

How fitting that it would end like this. The Pontifex was not surprised, it had foreseen... no... it had been foreseen by the One Below, but as a seed of it, the Pontifex was all it had been and all it could become, and the signs of the world ending was for it no stranger than these sharks. With another motion, it summoned water from the depth to fill the spots where the bridge became to weak to support them.

Hopefully, they would soon be aboard the ship... and worry about the future later.

No matter what some in the world had said, Bargainer reflected that sprinting does not, in fact, get easier as you get closer to your destination, no matter how close you get. Your options merely narrow, your ability to turn around dwindles, and as the shark had gleaned, the more absurd options you didn't realize you have begin to look gradually more attractive. Amazing how a little desperation changes things! If only he could savor this moment, and exploit it properly--but he was in no position to do such a thing. The open hatch to the worldship was all that mattered, and the Bargainer drove his legs to push him towards it, despite their protests.

Jets of water filled the voids in the pane of light. More than a little moist, it provided enough friction to allow passage. The Attendant had stepped fully inside the large square entryway to the loading bay, and was waving with his free hand, beckoning his new associates to hurry along. The ERG had arrayed themselves at either side, their gazes levelled in unison at the black sky. They stepped aside as the Bargainer crossed the threshold. This was an enourmously powerful symbolic event in its own right, but Bargainer felt something more distinct had taken place, subtle as it was. His accompaniment had kept pace, and cleared the way for the next group of cosmic refugees.

The Septumvirate glid onwards, undampened by the watery expanses of the bridge. The precise level of refraction of the water indicated that the magical forces at play here left the nutrient content of the lake mostly untouched. These portions of the bridge were almost entirely pure. And yet, were every drop diluted one part per hundred in void, and this process repeated with the results of the last mixture, it would be nowhere near as pure as the light sections they'd formed. But it was good enough for a bridge. It made it to the square portal in the side of the Worldship. An unfamiliar thing was sensed as it entered the storage hold, and though it was not element zero, it would require some thought.

The Pontifex and retinue, struggling dance-cultist in tow, calmly made their way across the expanse. The water seemed to be their domain, after all, and any feisty creature that thought itself king of the environment (the crown-like headridges were an amusingly presumptuous touch!), would quickly find themselves having a painful exaqueous death. The relaxed pace brought them to the desired place soon enough. The holds were of exquisitely solid construction, and though this portion was mundane enough, there was something beyond magic at work here.

Surtr's followers rushed on, carrying their belongings and dropping a few into the water as sharks smashed away at their walking surface. An enterprising few of the aquatic terrors had made use of the liquid patches in the bridge to spring up and take their shot at fulfilling their duty, only to be blasted away by the Exemplar. The square entryway was attained, and Exemplar knew that some sort of goal had been met.

Bringing up the rear was Surtr and his top two boys, and their new friend. The ferocious bastard they rode on had no trouble taking monstrous bites out of any shark foolish enough to take a leap at it. Not many were. The ribcleaner seemed more intent on the jangling horde of folk running along the bridge before it, and Surtr could sense it would be a fun challenge to train this trait out of it. Or simply restrain it until such a trick would prove amusing. This hastened the pace of them all, and soon the bridge, failing in places as the light cracked and vanished, and the water lost its elevation, was devoid of anyone and itself. Crossing the threshold, the beast seemed confused, and Surtr felt its fur go flat. Surtr wondered if it could make heads or tails of that tiny, nagging sensation any more than he could.

The cargo hold was dark and filled with occupants now. The sand and sawdust coated stone floors were quite a bit more reassuring (to some) than the materials the bridge they'd been sprinting across moments ago. Though not the exotic topside gardens and landscapes that had been visible from the shore of the Festival Grounds for the last several days, everyone had made it to the Worldship at last.

With tremendous force of will, the Bargainer was able to remain on his feet, contrary to every sensation and instinct. They were out of immediate danger, but he would allow himself no show of weakness, would not permit himself to fall to his knees, even for the purpose of bodily recovery. One thing he could not stop was the heaving breaths, and the accompanying relief that it seemed nobody would ask him to speak for the moment--he wouldn't have been able to deliver a proper sentence in between wheezes if he wanted to. His servants were ready to help support him if he showed any desire to use them for stability, but so far that was not the case.

Taking a moment after the notion settled that he was done running, he surveyed the area visually on the inside of the Worldship. Without stepping any further from where he'd stopped, of course; even to turn.

Once within the hold of the ship, the Septumvirate allows itself a flush of blue, glancing back to the collapsing bridge of water and light as everyone approaches. With everyone inside, it allows itself greater attention on the unfamiliar presence within the bounds of its sense, and it tries to pinpoint where precisely this "thing" may be found, if it is within the hold, or simply within the ship.

"Well, I do suppose we were do for a bit of excitement preceeding our journey. No harm done, and I do believe this is the perfect conclusion to our time upon this world; snapped at by ravenous fish and attacked by the very primal being that stands for its existence. Why, perhaps the rest of our trip will be a bore compared to that, hmm?"

The sense of accomplishment that edged its way into the Exemplar's mind as it touched down on the worldship was at once both familiar and foreign. It tainted the ecstasy of battle, its presence in the gladiator's mindscape anathematic, but it drew some small degree of satisfaction from it as well. It might dwell on this experience later. For now it stood within the Worldship, shock lance crackling as it sought whatever targets it could before the battle ended.

(Firing off shots at whatever can be deemed hostile outside of the world ship until the way seals behind the group.)

The Pontifex turned on its heels as soon as it passed into the soothing shade of the inside ship, surveying the destruction and dismay marring this final breath of the planet it had been created upon.

With the tink of a single bell, the waters on the bridge fell away as soon as the last foot of important people were aboard the ship. It remained, watching the patchy light-bridge, although what was going through its mind was a mystery.

One of its followers turned to the others and asked, her voice curiously melodic: "The Pontifex wishes to know if the crew aboard this ship is with us, we are to depart immediately."

Surtr hopped off of his new pet with a whoop, and wasted no time finding somewhere for himself and his minions to settle down and celebrate. They'd stolen some great stuff, fought a spiteful god and escaped the death of their native world onto a massive worldship. Before celebrating was ridiculous, now it was pretty much obligatory. He and his retinue retired to the ship's interior without waiting to be directed, beast in tow.

Sand crunched underfoot as various peoples shuffled about in the loading dock. There was a chorus of breath noise, and the post-run exhalations were subtly raising the temperature of the hold. Small shafts opened up in the ceiling, allowing light to spill downwards, and illuminating just how vast this area was. Large pillars were arrayed to the left and right, some being clung to by the skeletal remains of the builder crystal. At first the pillars seemed to be placed in a straight row, but as one's gaze followed the trail of them, the curve of the interior 'room' became apparent. Straight ahead of those gathered was a large sliding door of stone, completely unadorned, and opened enough to show that it led to a similar room, which was illuminated enough to show, through its shadows and silhouettes, that it was loaded with various things.

At the edge of the dock, beyond Exemplar's perch from which he shot death downwards at whatever sharks swam into view, the blackness drew closer. The horizon drew closer. Huts and shanties and fountains and roads vanished as it did. The fire and smoke that was minutes ago tearing across the city had slowed, and seemed to hover, frozen, above black nothingness. No noise, no tearing, just a slow border of black inching across the world. The Grand Pavilion and the marble panels of the Lawgiver remained to be crossed, but that would happen soon enough.

"We should be fine, of course. The worldship's strands of force are entirely disentangled from that of our homeland." The Attendant said, having regained his breath enough to check his itinerary card. "Otherwise we wouldn't be able to watch this. Though I wish- let me rephrase. I think it would have been nice to have a recording of the Bargainer's associate's performance, to go with this."

The Attendant glanced over, responding to the Pontifex's question.

"We are departing. Relatively. You're free to make your way to your party's accommodations as soon as possible. Unfortunately, as per contract, your group's...quarters don't intersect with the holds we're in currently. You'd need to reach topside, first."

The Attendant turned his vision back outwards, as the world ending black line passed over the white square, leaving it untouched, and continued down the road towards the shore.

It had stopped firing now. The simple pleasure of sniping sharks was being eclipsed by something far grander, something that transfixed it. The Exemplar stared out at the world as it ended. There was no bloody carnage, no strangled cry, no death rattle. Just the blackness of utter oblivion rising up to consume it. It was annihilation in its purest form. It was the most beautiful thing the killer had ever seen.

The Pontifex made no indication to show that it had heard the instructions of the Attendant. But slowly it began to move again, producting no sound as it... slid across the flor, slowly, towards what looked to be the exit of this large hall. It seemed to have no interest in watching the old world die. One of the attendants spoke up again.

"The Pontifex wishes to move as quickly as possible, the destruction of the home, while fascinating, may prove a lethal distraction in the end.

As the ship lifts off, the Septumvirate turns its attention to the world below. As the black line passes over the surface, it watches silently alongside the Exemplar, its form growing flushed with indigo flecked with green. Until the surface below is either consumed or too far to be made out by even its seven senses, the Septumvirate remains there, keeping silent sentinel and giving no outward sign of what thoughts pass through its mind.

The Bargainer, too, observed the final moments of the only world he'd so far known. A sigh was permitted to escape amidst the heaving breaths of recuperation. He'd grown accustomed to working alone, in a sense--his debtees did not truly register to him as beings the great majority of the time--but this new solitude was something different. There had always been, knowably, other civilizations to learn and manipulate and corrupt and sometimes enrich, but now, it may well be that those aboard this vessel would be all sentience that would ever exist from this point forward.

He mused that he might have to learn to work on a much smaller, more intimate scale. But for now, he was content to indulge in his privilege to observe the dying realm's last gasp. Like his former attendant's performance, it was an event that could only be witnessed once, and it was not to be missed.

Surtr, for his part, did not care to sit and watch the world as it quietly ceased. It had no potential now, and what little he had had left in it had come with him. It was the past, and now was a time to celebrate and look forward. The past almost literally did not exist now. They were starting more or less fresh. He did not begrudge some of his followers staying behind to watch, however. They would find their way soon enough. He continued to his group's accommodation.

Surtr and company slipped through the shadowy innards of the worldship, passing vaults of pots and boxes packed with sundry goodies. As they worked their way further in, they occasional gem stood out, sometimes literally but usually as some sort of well known or thought-lost treasure. These all seemed to be encased in more of that living crystal, smaller objects hovering in a sphere of the stuff, while larger things were secured to the ground in naturally jutting formations. The organizational system between the layers of the storage chambers was not readily apparent, but towards the center more peculiar objects loomed out of the darkness. In the second-to-innermost chamber, along the path Surtr took, were three simple crates nestled between a large porcelain dragon statue with a crack in its belly and an enormous cube of salt that contained a rainbow of trace minerals. The crates were marked "Never Open, Please" in omniscript, which took him a few moments to decipher.

The innermost chamber of the cargo layer was a simple white room with a sign in both omniscript and the world's common language: "Cargo and Loading Bays". There was a stairway of milky white chalcedony and glossy black onyx. It seemed to stretch both up and down into more shadowy rooms at a casual, shallow angle.

~~~

In the loading bay, overlooking the blackness, all that remained in sight was the white cube. Looking so much like the opposite of the sky of day, the white shape on black seemed to have no proportion at all. The cube seemed to grow. There was nothing out there to compare it to, so the eyes couldn't help but play tricks. Moments pass without the cycle of night and day to constrain them. And then that little white cube, all that remained of the world below, became a perfectly thin white line, reaching infinitely far from some point off in the black distance, to below the worldship, and (almost certainly) beyond.

The Attendant knelt at the edge of the loading bay and knelt. With one eye closed he traced a line in the air with his index finger from where the line went, along its path to where the edge of the stone blocked it from his field of vision. He placed his finger there firmly, and craned his head around to those assembled behind him.

"I believe we have our heading. Now...does anyone have a way to mark this?"

A slight jingle was permitted to escape from the Pontifex as it did a most uncharacteristic shrug. One of the attendants spoke up.

"Whilst this ship is certainly majestic, and well-befitting the Pontifex, the Pontifex wishes to inform that it has no interest in the navigation and maintenance of this vehicle... that is a task the Pontifex considers below it."

There was a pause and then they all spoke up, as in choir, "The Pontifex wishes no harm upon this ship, so it shall remain and observe, and if the other honorable delegate prove impotent, the Pontifex shall deign itself to deal with the matter."

"I have it marked, Attendant. If you would show me to the navigator?" Memorizing the direction indicated, the Septumvirate breaks its attention, having absorbed all the knowledge of this tragedy it wished to. It is time now to move onwards.

Somehow, the Bargainer knew the Septumvirate would have the solution. That seemed to be the most reliable thing about this particular peculiar lifeform.

Finally starting to catch his breath properly, Bargainer reflected on this. While--especially in their circumstances--it was a useful trait that the Septumvirate seemed capable of anything, it was also a challenge to work out, to find something that this being wanted. Several of the others aboard the Worldship were much easier to read, and had practically stated forthright what their price would be. This being of congealed light would not be so simple to trade with, which, given the unknown span of time ahead of them before locating another stable place of residence, would do nicely as a way to pass the time.

Bargainer rubbed his own shoulder, and squeezed at his thigh a little. The muscles were tense and worn, but the pain was the right sort to communicate to him that they would still work. He bid them do so, to carry him further into the vessel, through and eventually out of the storage chambers.

The Exemplar watched existence as it knew it diminish into a thin white line. The majesty of what had just occurred was lost to him now, the moment passed. Now it was realising what this all meant. The world was gone. Anything and all that was left was on this ship. A finite supply.

It turned and lumbered off into the bowls of the ship, its steps laboured, largely ignoring the babble of the other things that had survived. It needed to take stock of what still existed.

The world destroying blackness had passed over the ship without any noise or fuss. The Worldship was, with only the gleaming ray below it as a reference point, motionless. Endless white day stretched forever in one direction and endless, sultry, colorful night danced on even further in the other. The loading bay faced the day, though without any sort of rotation, this was devoid of any chronological implication.

The Attendant rose quickly with his body turning to match his view of the group. The upward motion of his arm, the one carrying the Artifact, gave it just enough momentum to slide forward in his grasp. No longer clutching the wide base of the thing to his side, he held it by the handle, the circular base of it now between his face and the group. Were the metal not so worn and rough, it'd be a perfect contrast to the brightness coming into the dark hold from behind him. He tilted it to and fro, examining it, and occasionally glancing at his notecard held aloft in his other hand.

"I was never informed as to how this thing works."

He dropped it to his side, sending up a small spray of sand and wood shavings. It landed right on the edge of the stone, handle dangling over nothingness at a 45 degree angle.

"I'm just here to facilitate the transition. There's a stairwell at the center of the warehouse here. If you head up, it should take you each to your designated quarters- they should all be properly stocked with appropriate refreshments. I have thirty-eight tasks I need to complete around the ship before we can attempt movement."

"As I have no need for rest at this moment, Attendant, I shall join you if you please. While we may not need motion yet, I would imagine the navigator of this vessel still need the course to chart?" And of course, greater knowledge of the functioning of this vessel would be a benefit of its own. It may become necessary at some point, as fragile a being as the Attendant has seemed to be.

Surtr looked between the two sets of stairs, and started heading down. There was a lot of ship to look through, out of the way places to find and possibly make use of. Quiet, dark places that appeared rarely used or unused. Heading down felt like a good way to find such a thing.

Surtr would find him in contest with The Pontifex as it and its followers began to stroll down the stairs at a leisurely pace.

"The Pontifex shall find a suitable body of water on board this ship or, should it not exist" One of the attendants spoke softly,"The Pontifex will create one" another filled in."There shall be an abundance of water on this ship so that none will thirst." Said a third with a powerful tone."All that is required is that The Pontifex shall be kept from disturbance unless The Pontifex requires it." Two voices, young man and woman, finished in unison.

Gathering breath to speak, the Bargainer addressed his entourage. "Fellows, go and find your beds. I trust you will be able to find them on your own. I will send for you when next I require your services." He waved them off, and they filed up the stairs towards the rest that none other outside the ship were privileged.

The Bargainer himself was recovering, and he knew that he'd be better off staying active for a bit longer, staying on his feet as a reminder that they were not permitted to come so close to failing him again. A moment after his servants, he ascended the staircase and began roaming the ship's interior, acquainting himself with its layout somewhat as he walked, doing laps as a spectator.

Those exploring the vast subzones of the Worldship would eventually find areas specifically tailored to their habitation. The surface level, with its varied landscapes and biomes, vast fields, mudbrick huts, glass domes, streams, and atmosphere held in place by the leyline mesh field enveloping the Worldship, was home to the majority of the average folk who had this place as their new home. The innards of the ship were likewise huge, both through the sheer amount of mass involved in creating the interior, and special four-dimensional architectural techniques employed by The Pontifex during construction. The tele-stairwells, even with the omniscript waypoint signs, would hardly allow one to explore the fullness of it without becoming irredeemably lost. Luckily, the fate of this matter had been pre-determined by the construction team, and the core domiciles of those seeking them were found quickly enough.

The Exemplar was able to locate the Hall of Champions, a structure transplanted from their homeland, without much effort at all. Once inside he accessed a rejuvenation tube, and without bothering to remove their armor, succumbed to the only sort of rest it allowed itself: That which would provide for, from their perspective, the quickest route to the next action. The rest would find themselves in locations that were tailored to their needs plainly- nothing elaborate or frilly- just the basic, but nonetheless perfectly 'fitting' accommodations. Pontifex's lair was accessable from a lake of breathable nutrient air on the surface level, and a stairway under the water led downwards into darkness only the Pontifex would associate as 'home'. The Attendant had walked through a wall to begin his work, and Septumvirate intuitively knew that this would require the dragon array's clean porcelain figures to be arranged in a precise way to juncture their own data-streams with that of the ship's, his workspace offset in some extra-dimensional area to help bypass the friction that 'physics' dragged everything down with. Surtr found what materials he needed to provide for his people without any issue, as the omniscript directions indicated the most direct path to the surface level section which housed his beloved Folkstone- at the center of three blood red mesas, circled by two streams, and fueled by the collected light magnified by the ley-mesh above. It was a prime area to settle. Bargainer could see that his associates had already spread amongst the ship, his gift of bartered souls being utilized in various sectors. He'd have little trouble setting up shop wherever he felt his services would be most readily needed.

-

The Worldship spins between light and dark as this recreation myth spins itself out. Outside of time as it had been known for eons, the only indication of temporal passage was simple psychic announcements of the Attendant's, broadcast through the ship, as he checked off tasks.

Within the extra-dimensional region, the Septumvirate directs the incorporation of the Dragon Array to the required specifications. It's a short task to complete the interface, and at the moment of its completion, it immediately sets the device to begin charting the paths required by the ship. Once this task is complete, it leaves the Array to its computations, and returns to the side of the Attendant, following him along as he takes in just what is necessary to bring a vessel such as this readied for its semi-dimensional transit.

The Exemplar gladly succumbed to the lassitude, the contemplating of its future drawing its thoughts down dangerous paths. The Hall of Champions was a welcoming sight, as was the rejuvenation tube it collapsed into. It would sleep for now and, when it awoke, the future would surely not seem so bleak.

Having men on the inside was a good thing. A very good thing. The world's end was an event they'd been able to plan for, and the Bargainer had taken the initiative to ensure his plans aligned smoothly with what may well be a very long trip. Some cultures on the existence he'd known had sayings to the effect of "being honest is the highest of virtues," but they weren't even correct when they were alive and there were a proper number of people to be honest to. No; the best thing one could have was foresight.

He'd had a room prepared for him, if one could call such an expanse a mere room. Adorned with the accoutrements of art and music as well as the instruments of practical business, his suite was a testament to the refinement of culture and civilization. The main entryway doubled as a sort of trophy room, displays for a number of artifacts the Bargainer had acquired through some of his relatively mundane deals, including a sculpture of the right arm of the greatest leader of the Kenthu tribe made through their characteristic waterfall crafting method and a more literalist interpretation of summer's seafloor hotspring currents than the Bargainer had expected from an airborne society, here rendered in Hjalir gold.

These were ensconced around an entry hallway which led from a reasonably tight corridor--fitting two abreast would be uncomfortable to say the least, for a normal hominid--to the main hall, longer than it was deep, painted on the back wall with Gaeola pigments and using their unique properties to depict with startling, breathtaking accuracy the twilight sky, the way it was before the black disk appeared to threaten all that had ever been. It was at once familiar and disturbing; a reminder of home, and a reminder that home needed a reminder. The sight was captivating. Exactly as the Bargainer had intended.

To the left side of the room was a writing desk of translucent green stone, a scholarly artifact of the Bargainer's previous, mortal life, before his endowment, and he'd kept it more as a practicality than for any sentimental reasons (though recalling his roots helped to keep him grounded and sympathetic in his dealings on more than one occasion). There were no papers in its compartments, no ink or quill to be found even in its vicinity, the result of the Bargainer's ability to conjure such paltry necessities on a whim. The center of the room bore a small number of artifacts of discovery--a golden telescope, a model of known creation on a one-millionth scale, a primitive plumb--all gilded and not properly functional, but then again that nature of functionality was not necessary when the skyscape of the nearby "window" was artifice. All the same, the proper meaning was conveyed.

At the right side of the main hall was an exit, which in turn served to lead further towards the Bargainer's bedchambers--the Bargainer did not sleep, but it behooved him strategically to have a bed on occasion--and to a more humble study and reading room, bearing two chairs of insufficiently artistic craft to normally merit the Bargainer's attention, and bookshelves fit for a somewhat affluent peasant. If a change of scenery was necessary, the Bargainer would certainly be able to find it here in the comparatively small space between stone-and-mortar walls lit by a single source at the center of the ceiling.

The Bargainer entered this, inspected some key details for accuracy to his requests, and, satisfied, began to plan. Several of his usual tactics would not serve him well in this climate; turning the occupants of the ship against eachother, for example, would be a move virtually guaranteed to end suboptimally for the Bargainer in this large but certainly finite vessel. A better relation would be to work on the trust of the passengers, to ensure that the proper connections were made. Fortunately, the Bargainer already knew much about his fellows, despite their short time together so far. The Septumvirate, for instance, was curious and valued learning above knowledge; the one called Surtr was concerned with more tangible matters (though whether this was in pursuit of status, or perhaps maintenance thereof, had yet to make itself clear) and would likely respond better to objects with a blend of practicality and rarity, unless the Ribcleaner he had "tamed" for transportation earlier had been an incredibly improbable coincidence.

He would learn more. For now, the Bargainer sorted through the materials assembled here for him, and prepared for the ancient practice of exchanging materials for influence.

Surtr and his people settled into their space quickly, setting up their meager but comfortable living spaces in less than an hour. A suitable repast for all was prepared almost as quickly, while Surtr reflected on their new situation. It was an incredible vessel, and a perfect location. All of his disciples had made the journey with him, and he'd procured some great prizes as they had all made their way onto the Worldship. Hooray.

He grunted with irritation. Why was he still so discomfited? He had assumed his foul mood had to do with the revelers and their ostentatious and other such nonsense at the ceremony. He'd had no time to think about it one way or another when in the middle of fighting the god of their now dead home world. But now he was here, sitting alone with his flock in perfection built on true awesomeness. But he was not happy. Something was missing, and he could not place what. He tore a bit of succulent meat from bone and chewed slowly, reflecting on what possible void there might be in his life.

The Pontifex descended into their lair harmoniously, the cloth-fabric covering them wavering softly, billowing in motion as pale white, slender and fine feet stepped on perfectly cut black obsidian, deeper and deeper. Their followers would rest in a place where there was still some light... The Pontifex required complete darkness, complete silence. It needed to speak with its dying part, and make plans. Things had proceeded not entirely as they had foreseen.

The chamber was at one time minimal, as well as all-encompassing. In the utter darkness, there was only Them. And It. And It was hurting. The Pontifex, however, felt something akin to excitement, however. And as time passed the conversation became increasingly sordid until finally it was cut off, and the Pontifex remained alone, floating in the vastness of the dark.

Anyone outside of the Worldship would be hard pressed to accurately judge the passage of time- either moments or days or years. A colorful little clay top spinning above a white thread; an optical illusion.

Inside, though, time was marked only by the fine tuning the Attendant worked upon the Worldship. The spin was gradually adjusted to match the familiar cycles of day and night. Gravity was altered, and footsteps began to make the proper noises. That new sensation, that tugging of the spirit the Worldship's peculiar nature evoked, began to subside into normalcy. Psychic repeaters still relayed the checklist, but the tasks must be increasing in complexity at a geometric rate, giving how large the gaps between his mental chimes had become. Aside from a sudden tremor or two as things settled, things were smooth all over.

It had been something similar but not quite like a few days since the nebulous 'Task #2' had apparently begun. And then: "Activating the Fastness: Complete."

There was just enough of a moment to react before another bullet point came through.

"Beginning final task-"

There was a fumbling of thoughts.

"Uh, hold on. Can anyone else cognize that?"

There was perceptible negative acceleration through the vessel as the rotation of the Worldship slowed to a halt, to help pinpoint the disturbance.

"There's something not quite right happening on the surface. I'm, uh, not prepared for whatever this is. I think that means it's either too trivial for me to have been warned about or something completely unpredictable. That could be real nasty. Could someone please go and, uh, figure this out? I can't move from where I am. Thanks."

The Pontifex's lair had little concern of familiar cycles or proper noises, only the infinite black deepness mattered, but when the voice of Attendant reached them, the Pontifex was stirred from their slumber in a foul mood.

This would not do, they would not stand for this abrasive alarmist agenda. As they ascended from the dark pressure, they called upon one of their servants. No need for all of them now, not all the time. That had been for show. Showtime was over.

"What... is the problem?" The Pontifex spoke up through one of the many communication-arrays that lined the walls of the ship. "Is there not anything built into the hull that can deal with this triviality?"